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The Sunbeam Flaring in Your Lovely Body

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The longest Victor Nikiforov ever went without having sex was the 1 year, 2 weeks, 3 days, 17 hours, and 42 minutes he spent chasing after and coaching the shy, the baffling, the completely irreplaceable Yuri Katsuki. In fact: they even got engaged before they did the deed. For a man whose first sexual experience had been a threesome with 2 well-known Russian models at the age of 16, which in turn put him on a bump-n-grind train that never stopped moving quickly thereafter, this was like the equivalent of 100 horrifyingly abstinent years. Sex had always been easy. A competitive athlete didn’t have time for the complications or pressures of love, but sex was something you just hammered out at the end of a long day with a willing partner, as long as it felt good. The rumours of condom use in the Olympic Village had never been exaggerated, and Victor had had his fair share of fun there, too. But every so often he ran into situations that ended up being more complicated than he liked. Victor kept things light and loose with lovers, often cutting them off without warning when he really needed to buckle down for the competition season. There were a couple of incidents that even made it onto his Wikipedia page: the Bulgarian actress who downed a bottle of pills after he’d dumped her (she hadn’t been smart enough to take something that would have actually killed her), and the Italian race-car driver who dramatically got into an accident at the Monte Carlo Rally, later citing Victor’s “It’s not you, it’s me” text as the cause in follow up interviews from the hospital. 

Victor had had more than a dozen high profile lovers, and a much higher number of fuck buddies on top of that, but until one champagne fueled night in Sochi, he had never been even remotely close to anything like love. 

And so, when he’d bought a one way ticket from Russia to Japan, he thought that this, like almost everything else in his life so far, would be easy too. This man had grabbed his attention by the throat, in a way that no one else had ever managed to before. And he already knew Yuri was attracted to him too: those sweet, sparkling eyes, the dry-humping, the heat of one dance pressed between their bodies like a flower pressed between the pages of a book. The pheromones he’d been able to smell through the champagne were unmistakable: this was someone who definitely wanted to fuck him. 

The coaching bit had been a bit of a whim; just an excuse for the press as to why he was leaving Russia. He’d expected, 100%, to spend the rest of the year relaxing with his dog during the day and having crazy sex at night with the cute guy he’d met at the Grand Prix Final banquet before heading back to his own career, maybe with said cutie in tow, because Victor had never been wrong before.

The first inkling he had that he’d made a mistake was when a barely recognizable Yuri Katsuki skidded into view at his family’s hot spring.

“Victor,” he had squeaked out. “Why are you here?”

“Well, shit,” Victor thought, putting a hand to his head for the towel. “I guess I have to actually do this coach thing now.”



Yuri was skittish, like a tiny animal that had never been exposed to human beings before, and was squeaking all the time now because the one human he’d met wouldn’t stop picking him up. He shied away from Victor’s touch, blushed more easily than anyone else Victor had ever met, and on more than one occasion bruised himself running into walls to get away from him. But one thing Victor had learned from his own skating career: that Victor Nikiforov always succeeded with persistence. Every single time he’d fallen from a jump he’d just gotten back up and done it again. And so it was with Yuri. He “stretched” him in the open air hot spring. He constantly put fingers to his lips, his jaw, and once, the slim length of his collarbone. He asked at least once a week if they could bunk together. He latched on to him with roaming hands with the pretext of being drunk just as frequently. This was exhausting, in its own way, as it required a lot more drinking than he usually did. But everyday rejections from your very first crush can also drive a person to drink, so it ended up being a weirdly circular thing. But, just like the first time he’d landed a quad flip at age 18, taking this approach with Yuri did have unexpected results, when, just before the younger skater hit the ice for the Onsen on Ice event, he’d thrown his arms around him. 

Alone that night in an empty banquet hall hurriedly turned into a bedroom, Makkachin snuffling quietly, Victor stared up at the ceiling. The heat from Yuri’s embrace still lingered, like the half-life of a radioactive isotope, or that bright, sweet streak a comet leaves behind.

“What am I doing?” he thought. The blood was pooling downwards in his veins, and rushing, with precision, to exactly one part of his body. Prior to moving to Hasetsu, Victor had never really needed to touch himself before. Whenever he’d been in the mood, there’d always been a line of men and women waiting. But by now he’d gotten used to this: the heat, the pace at which to stroke, and how long it’d take to make himself come. When he reached release, he exhaled, rolled over, and sighed. However much he wanted him, Yuri wasn’t remotely close to ready. In spite of what he’d seen that December night in Sochi, he was certain now that Yuri was a virgin.

“If I push him too far now,” he thought, “he’ll run.” 



“Hey,” Mila texted him. “Congrats, kid!”

“On Yuri’s regional win…? Thanks…?” Victor replied.

“No, you dummy,” she replied. “Did you not watch that press conference?”

“I watched it with his family, but I still don’t really know that much Japanese. Yuri and I speak in English. It looked like he was just talking about his theme and how much he wants to win this season?”

“I found it with Russian subtitles. You should watch it again.”

She sent him a link. 

Several minutes later, he texted her back.

“I’m screwed,” he said.

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life,” came the reply.

“Don’t even get me started,” was the final reply.



Several things happened in Victor’s head in the span of time between himself, Yuri, and the ice.

The first was, that his lips were impossibly soft, and that he tasted better than anything that had ever been in Victor’s mouth before, and it had nothing to do with Chanel lip balm.

The second, was that they were going to hit the ice, and that he didn’t want Yuri to get hurt, and so he’d unvelcroed their faces long enough to cradle his head in his hands and cushion the fall.

The last was in that first split second when he lifted his face from Yuri’s shoulder to look into his eyes, those eyes that were full of warmth and joy and tenderness, and he thought, both deliriously happy and deliriously freaked out at the same time, “Oh no. This is definitely, definitely, definitely that Love thing.” 



Yuri started letting him kiss him now, but gently, and slowly, and when things got too heated, he would tense up, and Victor would stop, cap things off with a closed mouth kiss to his temple or jaw, before letting him bolt like a cat that had been pet just a second too long. 

In turn, Victor spent more time in and out of their coaching sessions looking for excuses to touch him. He reasoned that he was acclimating Yuri the same way every person acclimated to the hot spring of his family’s inn: slow and total submersion until the water no longer felt terrifyingly hot. Because the element of surprise had finally lost its luster due to Victor’s octopus hands, Yuri was starting to relax, lean on him, sometimes touch him too, the graze of his skin pulsing a warm, unexpected glow.

What he hadn’t expected had been what a separation would do to him. After more than half a year of spending most of his waking hours with Yuri, the 48 hour separation had been actually physically painful, and not just because of his anxiety over Makkachin.  

While he waited at the airport for Yuri to arrive, he’d thought, tortuously, am I his coach? His boyfriend? Something in between?

But when he’d clutched him tight in his arms at arrival, inhaling the sweet and musty scent of his hair, Yuri’s face buried in his neck, the warmth finally thawing the cold that had set in over the past two days, the words left him- neither coach, nor boyfriend, but only, thinking, this is it. This is it for me. This is all that there can ever be for me. 



“When the Grand Prix Final is over,” Yuri said, “Let’s end this.”

Every cell in his body went numb, almost instantaneously. He was hallucinating, wasn’t he? Just minutes before he’d been in the shower, the thumb of his right hand turning the engagement band around and around, worrying. Yuri had skated well but not exceptionally in his short program, and if history served, he had an unfortunate habit of self destructing. But Victor had never expected him to self destruct on top of him. Nor had he expected it to hurt quite this spectacularly, or this suddenly. 

Before he could stop himself, the tears were dripping out. It felt like he was crying from everywhere in his body. Hadn’t they been happy just 24 hours earlier? Newly engaged, falling asleep in each others arms after some pretty heavy duty making out. Yuri had even let his hands wander south of the waistband as they were falling asleep. This was not how he’d been expecting this evening to go. He’d thought Yuri had understood when he’d whispered to him that day, “I hope you never retire.” They’d even already put together a pair skate for the Exhibition Gala. After all this time, had he been this wrong?

No, Yuri told him on the ice, less than 24 hours later, his hand extended towards him, his body trembling with exertion, there in that ballet mime for love- no, he hadn’t been wrong at all.





That night, he pushed Yuri down into bed with a laugh. 

When he leaned in for a kiss, Yuri held him back at an arms length.

“I thought you only wanted to kiss a gold medal,” he said. 

“That’s on coach time,” Victor said. “The hotel room door is shut. I’m on personal time now.”

Yuri laughed, and Victor swallowed that laugh with his mouth, taking the kiss deeper than he ever had before. 

When they both came up gasping for air, Victor buried his face in Yuri’s neck. There were still traces of sweat from the free skate, mingled with Yuri’s own personal scent, which Victor was starting to realize he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without. He wondered idly how long into their marriage it would take for their scents to merge.

“If you ever say something that makes it sound like you’re leaving me again,” Victor said, “I’m committing murder-suicide with you.”

Yuri stroked his hair. “That’s very Russian of you.”

“And besides,” he said, his voice smaller now, “you should pay more attention to me, if you thought that I wanted to leave you.”

This time, Yuri kissed him. His kisses still lacked confidence- and often, conviction as well, but they were getting steadier, like his quad flip over time. Being kissed rather than kissing even tasted different- a little bit sweeter than usual. 

Victor sighed into Yuri’s mouth.

“I’m going to call the moving company tomorrow,” he said. “How much of your stuff do you want to take?”

“…Huh? Take where?”

“To Russia. My apartment in St. Petersburg isn’t THAT big, but if you want, we can find somewhere bigger.”

“We’re moving to Russia?”

“Of course we are. If I’m going back to competing, and I’m still coaching you, we live in Russia now.”


“Yuri, I moved to Japan in a day just because I had a crush on you. How long do you think it’s going to take now that we’re engaged?”

“…You had a crush on me?”

Victor laughed. “Maybe YOU should pay more attention to ME.”

He cupped Yuri’s face in a hand, gently pulled the ball of his thumb against the cheek, and was rewarded with a soft nuzzle into it. 

“I’ll announce my comeback tomorrow, before the Exhibition Gala.”

“When’s your first competition going to be?”

“The Russian Nationals.”

Yuri laughed. “Victor, that’s 12 days from now.” 

“The medal ceremony is on my birthday. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

“Hmmm,” Yuri rumbled. He surprised Victor by pulling him into another kiss. This one was more eager than the last, his tongue shyly finding purchase into Victor’s welcoming mouth. Despite just missing the gold by a hair’s width today, this was probably the most relaxed Victor had ever seen him. He kissed back, pulling him closer, and then letting his hands wander under Yuri’s shirt. Their breathing started to heat up as they lost count of who was kissing or being kissed, the touches picking up urgency now. Yuri’s skin was warm. He gave off little gasps, intermittent and soft, down into Victor’s throat. Victor let his fingers graze the skin achingly slow, pulling downwards, until he’d slipped under the waistband of his pants. Yuri sighed into his mouth, pressing closer. 

“Yuri,” he said, “Can we…?”

Yuri tensed, just slightly, but enough for Victor to notice.

“It’s ok,” Victor said, pulling his fingers back up to Yuri’s waist, looking into that blushing face. “We can take it slow.”

Yuri cuddled up to him, burying his face beneath his jaw, left a very small kiss there. Their breathing began to slow again, and steady out.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Yuri said. “I mean, we’re getting married.”

Victor pressed a dry kiss to his hair. “We can do it when you’re ready.”

“It’s not that I’m not ready,” Yuri mumbled. “I was just waiting…”

“Waiting for what?”

Yuri mumbled again, less intelligibly than before.

“Mm? Yuri?”

“Waiting for your birthday.”

In spite of himself, Victor laughed. Yuri pulled back, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“I’m sorry, sorry,” Victor said, immediately, still laughing a little. 

“I changed my mind,” Yuri said, burying his face in Victor’s neck again. 

“I’m sorry Yuri! I’m sorry. It’s really very sweet. I’m just laughing because it’s cute,” he said, stroking Yuri’s hair, the long gradual curl of his spine. His thumb traced the small of Yuri’s back; there was an erogenous zone there, and even if he knew it was cheating a little, it was worth it for the little hitch in Yuri’s breath.

“I changed my mind,” Yuri murmured, “because you’re going back into competing.”

“Oh?” Victor said. He let the ball of his thumb pull up and down that erogenous zone again. Yuri made a very soft sound. He nuzzled deeper into the warm curve of Victor’s neck. His skin was hotter than usual. Victor knew without looking that Yuri had a full body blush now. 

“If you get the gold medal at Russian Nationals,” Yuri whispered into his jaw, “I’ll give you my virginity for your birthday.” 

Victor laughed again, though this time, it was purely out of surprise, and mostly out of delight.

“Alright,” he murmured back into the top of Yuri’s head. “You’ve got a deal.”



“You asshole,” little Yuri Plisetsky said through gritted teeth. “How is it that you spent 8 months flirting and fooling around in Japan and you already have a brand new short program and free skate ready to go?”

“Did you really think Eros and Agape were the only things I had in the works, Yurio?” Victor said with a wink.

“Frankly, I’m surprised you’re surprised,” Georgi said. “Victor’s always been like this.”

“I didn’t want Yuri Katsuki to retire,” Yuri said, glaring daggers, “but I don’t give a shit about you. Go back to being a trophy husband, you washed up old man.”

“Turns out my power husband wants another power husband,” Victor called from across the ice, “and I always give Yuri Katsuki what he wants.”

“Why are you alone anyway? Didn’t you bring your little piggy here with you?”

“He’s still asleep at home. Yuri doesn’t deal with jetlag well.” 

“I would have expected Georgi to be the devoted type,” Mila said, “but not Victor-‘I’ve fucked most of the attractive people in Russia by now and it bored me’-Nikiforov.”

“You know how I love to surprise!” Victor said, skating away, spreading his arms theatrically. 



Victor had never been wild about the apartment in St. Petersburg. It was a short jog across the bridge to the rink, it had a park nearby that Makkachin liked to run around in, it had a garage for his BMW, and it wasn’t too far from his parents, but other than that, it had never really felt like home- more a place for him to crash between competitions and practice sessions. So how was it, in the 10 days that Yuri Katsuki had lived here, that it had suddenly become the only place he ever wanted to be? 

On the coat rack was Yuri’s coat, and in the bathroom was Yuri’s toothbrush, and on the nightstand were Yuri’s glasses, and every night and every morning, in that huge bed, was warm, soft, happy Yuri himself. Since they’d moved here Yuri had been gradually letting him touch him more and more, stopping him just short of going the distance. 

“We have a deal,” he’d say, sternly pushing Victor back until he’d calmed down.

On the morning of their flight to Chelyabinsk for the Russian Nationals, Victor stirred his drowsy fiance in his arms, and then told him, “Yuri, I need a proper breakfast if I’m going to win.” 

“Mmm,” Yuri mumbled, “I’ll start the miso soup in a little bit….” Then he’d yipped when Victor’s mouth found its way around him. By the time he’d sucked him off and swallowed Yuri was fully awake and fully mortified. 

“Victor…” he moaned. Victor pulled up to kiss him. Yuri sleepily tried to push him away. “I just…. in your mouth… that’s gross!”

Victor laughed and kissed him anyway, sticking his tongue in his mouth while Yuri squirmed, uselessly beating at his chest with loosely balled fists.

He pulled back to look at Yuri’s flushed face, his slightly unfocused eyes, then swooped back in for a quick peck on the lips before jumping out of bed.

“I look forward to eating the rest after I win,” he said, pulling a shirt on over his bare chest, leaving Yuri groaning and rolling back over in bed.





The length of time that Yuri Plisetsky held the world record for a short program score lasted exactly 13 days.

“I’ll kill you!” he screamed at Victor. And then, at Yuri: “And you too! This is YOUR fault.”

The next day, in the Kiss and Cry, as they announced his free skate score, and Yakov pumped his fists in the air, Victor pulled Yuri close, and whispered in his ear, “I can’t wait to open my birthday present.”

After the medal ceremony, on Russian TV, the commentators for the National Championships commented fondly on what would later become known as a signature move for the two, as Yuri Katsuki kissed his ring, then the gold medal, and then Victor Nikiforov, on live TV. 





They crashed into the hotel room, laughing into each other’s mouths between kisses, hitting the hallway wall hard, smashing into each other like atoms in a particle accelerator. At the post medal celebration Yuri had downed two glasses of champagne, and it had been enough to get him just the tiniest bit tipsy, which made him suddenly and sweetly clingy in a way that made Victor excuse themselves a lot earlier than he’d intended. 

He was slightly tipsy too, but just a little bit buzzed, and nowhere near drunk, because tonight was a night he wanted them both to be able to remember. 

Yuri kissed him again, pushing him in the direction of the bed, as they both pulled their shoes off, then set to the frenzied work of removing coats, jackets, ties, pants, and underwear, while simultaneously diving together into the bed, still laughing. 

Yuri perched above him, a hand on either side of his head, pinning him down with his body, grinding into him. 8 months of bathing in a hot spring together meant that Victor was already used to seeing Yuri naked, and in the past week or so they’d been soaking in the tub in the apartment together, but this much skin to skin stimulation was still something new. Victor moaned as Yuri bent his head downwards, sucking at his earlobe, then his neck, leaving a bright mark. Then he pulled back up and looked down into him, eyes dense with desire, and Victor had a sudden dizzying thought of, who is this guy? 

But then he ran a hand down Victor’s face, just like he had during their pair skate, and Victor remembered, yes, yes, here he is, the only one for me.

“Hey,” Yuri said, very softly. “I love you.”

“Good,” Victor said back, smiling. “Because I love you too.”

And then Yuri kissed him, again and again and again, and the weightlessness in his head had nothing to do with the alcohol, or the gold medal, and everything to do with the man in his arms. How long had he been waiting for this? His hands clutched at Yuri’s back, wanting to savour, but impatient to eat him, eat all of him, as well. He gripped towards the side table, where he’d already left the lube and condoms out this morning, confident and cocksure.

Yuri’s tongue was in his mouth, and then-


What else was happening down there?

Victor pulled back from the kiss.

“Yuri,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” Yuri said. He’d clearly already commandeered the lube that Victor had left out earlier. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, one that Victor saw only rarely, but always made his heart flip-flop in his stomach.

Yuri pulled open the condom wrapper with his teeth.

“I’m getting you ready to give you my virginity,” he said, eyes flashing. 

And Victor covered his own eyes then with his elbow and laughed, because even here, even now, Yuri Katsuki was definitely not done surprising him. 



Afterwards, in the huge hotel bathtub, exhausted, Victor cuddled Yuri close. The younger man’s head was pillowed against his shoulder, and he’d lazily tangled their legs together.

“Are you sure you were a virgin, Yuri?” Victor said, brushing back warm, wet hair from his fiance’s face.

“I’m definitely not one anymore, and I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I wasn’t before tonight,” Yuri said, sleepily.

“You’ve been known to get blackout drunk and seduce Living Legends, Yuri.”

“That only happened the one time. In Detroit I got drunk once or twice, but not that much, and Phichit took care of me anyway. I always saw everything on Instagram the next day.”

“Most virgins can’t go continuously for 30 minutes their first time. You came really quickly when I sucked you off the other day, so you can see why that would take me by surprise.”

“That’s because YOU took me by surprise! How long do you think I’ve been waiting for this? And anyway, that first round felt fast to me.”

“If half an hour is short for you, I’ve got a very happy marriage ahead of me.”

They drowsed together, Victor dragging a finger up and down Yuri’s forearm. 

“You know,” Victor said, “you’re the only person who’s ever topped me before.”

“Huh? Really? I did think you were acting a little weird… How is that possible?”

Victor laughed. “You’re the first one who ever tried.”

“Did you like it?”

“If you have to ask that question, you clearly weren’t paying attention while you were fucking me.”

Yuri gave a short laugh, but then fell quiet, and Victor could almost hear the gears turning now. Oh no. Reel it in.

“Hey,” he said, “whatever you’re thinking… I was just asking if you were really a virgin or not because it felt so good it scared me a little.”


“Yeah. And anyway, I was expecting to seduce you, not the other way around.”

“You got to take your turn with me, too, Victor, more than once.”

“Four rounds our first time wasn’t bad, you know.”

“It was a silver medal for you?”

“I expect you to go for the gold on our wedding night, Yuri.”

Yuri laughed again, this time for real.

“Does my coach have a training regiment in mind already?”

Victor moved his legs against his, sliding them up and down slowly.

“Oh, does he ever…”

Yuri settled down, pulling Victor’s arms around him closer, the bubbles in the bathwater splashing softly against the edges of the tub. 

“For a start,” Victor said, “we better do daily training.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Both morning and night…”


“And let’s keep building up that stamina of yours…”


“I’m going to work you hard.”

“I know.”

“That’s how I show my love.”

Yuri laughed, turning around in the tub, so that he was just about lying on top of him, pulling his face level with Victor’s.

“Hey Victor?”


“I haven’t said it yet today.”

“Said what?”

“Happy birthday, Victor.”

Victor smiled, bringing his hand up to the back of Yuri’s neck, pulling him close, so that their foreheads leaned against each other, his mouth hovering below his, ready for the kiss. 

“Merry Christmas, Yuri.”